Emily Bronté's dog...

Starting my morning in the nineteenth century, I stomped around the hills in the rain and mist today, being Emily Bronté, wondering if she had a dog companion out on the Yorkshire Moors? And reflecting that, if she did, it must have been a singular, wolfish lurcher, like my wild Kitty.

Getting warm and dry, I rejoined the twenty-first century  - well the twentieth anyway; I may have been in a Zoom meeting, but, catching sight of myself in a mirror, I looked like a refugee from a 1950s Enid Blyton story.

Later, wearing a woolly skirt and shawl, reading a book beside the fire, I am again in Haworth Parsonage...

And Emily's dog? 

'Keeper' was actually a huge, loyal mastiff...about as unlike Kitty as is possible to imagine. Still, she gives me pleasure...